Richard Laymon - The Traveling Vampire Show

“You did your best. Anyway, she had no business butting in like that. Not to mention threatening to tell on us. Serves her right.” Rusty chuckled softly.

“What?” I asked.

“Just thinking about the look she must’ve had on her face when she came back out and we were gone.”

“It’s not funny.”

The humor left his face. “Just hope she doesn’t decide to come after us. I wouldn’t put it past her.” Scowling, he looked over his shoulder.

I looked back, too. The road behind us was deserted, at least to where it curved out of sight about thirty feet away. “Maybe we’d better hurry,” I said.

We picked up our pace.

Every so often, we glanced back.

I felt lousy about ditching Bitsy.

I told myself that she had no business going with us in the first place. She wasn’t really one of us and we might be running into trouble. If things went bad, she could hardly be counted on to take care of herself. Saving her would be our job and we didn’t need that sort of responsibility.

Still, I’d tricked her. I’d betrayed her. I’d probably broken her heart.

I almost wished she would show up just so I could stop feeling so guilty.

Because of the twists in Route 3, we couldn’t see very far behind us. Bitsy might’ve been back there, closing in. At any moment, she might come hustling around a bend, jiggling and waving.

I half expected it to happen.

Every so often, cars went by. We stayed along the edge of the road, walking single file, and ignored them. Though most of the people in the cars probably recognized us, nobody called out or stopped. With any luck, we might not even get talked about; it wasn’t as if we were doing anything interesting, just walking.

By the time we were about halfway to the Janks Field turnoff, Bitsy still hadn’t appeared. Maybe because we were walking too fast. So I slowed down.

Rusty gave me a grateful look. Our fast pace had been rough on him.

We kept glancing back every so often. Rusty, I’m sure, hoped he wouldn’t spot Bitsy on the road behind us. I didn’t want her with us, either, but I might’ve been relieved to find her coming along.

When we finally reached the dirt road leading to Janks Field, I stopped and looked back toward town. There was a fairly long stretch before the first bend. Staring at the empty lanes, I realized this was where the sheeted man had come gliding toward us last Halloween night. The memory gave me a little shiver up my back.

What was he doing out here that night? I wondered.

Who was he?

Where is he now?

I almost expected to see the sheeted figure in its silly bowler hat and not-so-silly hangman’s noose come drifting up the road toward us.

Would it be as scary on a summer afternoon?

Maybe even scarier.

What if he’s just on the other side of the bend?

To stop myself from thinking about it, I said to Rusty, “Maybe we’d better wait here for a few minutes and see if Bitsy turns up.”

“Are you nuts?”

“What if she is coming after us?”

“All the more reason to get going.”

I shook my head. “And leave her alone out here? We’re two miles from town.”

He gave me a disgusted look. “She knows the way home.”

“But she might keep on looking for us. If she thinks we’re somewhere just ahead of her, no telling where she might go.”

Rusty sighed. “She probably never came after us at all. She probably went straight to her bedroom, crying.”

“Maybe,” I admitted. “But let’s at least give her five minutes or something to catch up. In case she…”

“Hi guys.”

Rusty flinched and gasped, “Shit!”

Even though I recognized the voice, I jumped. A moment later, warmth and relief spread through me. I turned and searched the deep shadows of the woods alongside the dirt road.

“What’s up?” Slim asked, stepping out from behind a tree.

“Hey hey!” Rusty blurted. “I knew you were okay.”

I’d known no such thing, myself. As she came toward us, my throat tightened and tears filled my eyes.

She looked fine.

She looked great. Her short blond hair was wet and clinging to her scalp. Her skin was shiny and dripping, scratched here and there from her encounter with the dog. On top, she wore nothing except her white bikini. Her cut-off jeans hung low around her hips. Her feet were wrapped in shirts, mine on her right foot, Rusty’s on her left.

Seeing the look on my face, she said, “Hey, Dwight, it’s okay.”

I hurried to her and spread out my arms, aching to hug her. But then I remembered all the cuts on her back, so I didn’t do it. She looked into my eyes. She had tears in her eyes, too. Her lips and chin quivered a little. Suddenly, she threw herself against me and wrapped her arms around me and hugged me hard.

Not wanting to hurt her, I put my hands on her shoulders.

Her hot, wet face nuzzled the side of my neck. She was breathing hard, her chest and breasts pushing against me. I could feel the pounding of her heart. Each time she took a breath, her flat belly touched mine.

“You guys gonna do it?” Rusty asked.

“Shut up,” Slim said.

“Do I get some of that?”

Neither of us bothered to answer him.

After a while, Slim loosened her hold on me and tipped her head back. “I sure am glad to see you,” she whispered.

“Same here,” I said.

She looked at Rusty. “You too, I guess.”

“How’s the back?” I asked.

“Not bad.”

I turned her around by the shoulders. The cuts looked raw and gooey. None seemed to be bleeding at the moment, but her skin was ruddy with a mixture of sweat and old blood. The bikini ties in the middle of her back were still white in a few places. Mostly, though, they were red.

“Has it been bleeding?” I asked.

“Not much.” She turned around to face me. “Just for a little while right after I jumped down off the shack,” she said, and glanced at Rusty.

“What’d I do?” he complained.

Instead of answering, she looked over her shoulder. “Let’s get off the road before someone comes along.” As we followed her into the trees, she said, “I’ve been staying out of sight.”

“Good idea,” I told her.

“Waiting for you. I knew you’d be coming back for me sooner or later.”

“We’ve been looking all over for you,” I said.

“I’ve been right here.” She stopped and turned toward us. “A long time,” she added.

“How long?” I asked.

She shrugged. “More than an hour, I bet.”

“Why?” Rusty asked.

She gave him a peeved look. “We were supposed to wait for Dwight.”

“I know, I know.”

“Some of us do what we say we’ll do.”

“You didn’t exactly stay put either,” he told her.

“No, I didn’t. But I came here so I could meet him.” To me, she said, “I figured if you came back with a car, you’d have to slow down for the turn and I’d have a chance to run out and stop you.”

“I did come back in a car,” I said.

Her head jumped forward, eyes going wide, mouth dropping open—a look of total, dumb surprise. “Huh?”

“In Lee’s pickup.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. Around noon, I guess. Twelve, twelve-thirty, something like that.”

With a few minor changes in her face and posture, she looked intelligent again, but perplexed. “That must’ve been right after I took off,” she said.

“Should’ve stayed,” Rusty told her.

“You’ve got to be kidding. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough after what I saw.”

“What?” I asked.

“The way they killed the dog.”